


Do It Together

by YYF96



Category: South Park
Genre: Eric's POV, M/M, POV First Person, Self-Harm, Suicide mention, somewhat ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:14:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YYF96/pseuds/YYF96
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman has always bent over backwards for Stan, ever since they were kids. When he finds out Stan's hurting himself, he's willing to go however far he needs to help him stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do It Together

When we were in grade school, I treated him differently than my other friends. I didn't insult him often, even though he never held back for me. I hugged him and he wanted me dead. I fought with a good friend over getting him addicted to a stupid freemium game and he laughed at me just like everyone else. He gave to Kyle and Kyle just took without ever giving back. I gave for him. I gave to Stan more than anyone else but I don't think he ever noticed.

  
I was there for him. I tried to cheer him up through every breakup and Kyle left him. Insulted him, even. Kyle doesn't understand depression. Maybe even Kenny doesn't get it. But I do. Stan cried and I helped. I cried and Stan laughed. But I still regarded him so highly, for what reason? He treated me the same as the others, but I put him on a pedestal.

  
He went goth again in middle school. Well that's what everyone thought. I know the difference between goth and emo. I didn't want to believe it, but he started wearing arm warmers. I tried to convince myself it was part of his stupid fashion sense, but I saw his arms when they were off once. I saw. I knew. Not even Kyle knew. I got angry; of course I did. I screamed in his face and he screamed back. But he didn't hit me like Kyle would've if I were to yell and curse at him. Stan wouldn't hurt a fly. Not physically anyway, but he'll sure as hell tell that fly to kill itself. He told me to kill myself three times during our argument. I didn't let him derail the subject but eventually he just left. I didn't physically try to stop him. There was no uninjured place on his arms to hold him back. If I tried to hold him back I would hurt him and that's exactly what I didn't want to do.

  
I apologized later. I never apologize, but Stan Marsh is just one big exception to me. I tried to talk to him about it. I tried to explain why self-harm won't get him any closer to happiness, but he wouldn't hear it. So I broke into his room while he was sleeping and took every single razor in the house. His mom was probably confused, maybe a little upset. But Stan- good god he got pissed. He figured out what I did right away. I refused to return his tools, but he didn't pursue it. I thought I might've gotten through to him. I was relieved.

  
He began showing up at the bus stop with visible bruises and cuts. I managed to ask about it without making it seem like I cared, and he said he pissed Shelly off. That happened sometimes. Less often since her braces were removed, but still. Sometimes.  
But not every week. Not two or three times a week. I never mentioned it to anyone. No one seemed to notice. I didn't tell anyone about Stan's cuts either. That probably confused the hell out of him. I knew what he was doing. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. I had to talk to Shelly about it. She and I were still on pretty decent terms, so she listened when I said I wanted to talk to her about something serious.

  
She went pale when I explained why Stan kept purposefully pissing her off. It wasn't puberty, that was for sure. She seemed upset that her little brother was using her as a tool for self-harm. I told her not to talk to him about it. She agreed and promised me that she would keep her cool around Stan.

  
It only took a few days for Stan to figure me out again, to figure out what I did. He punched me. He screamed at me again. He punched over and over, but stopped when he realized I wasn't going to hit him back. He was angry, yeah, but he was trying to get me to hit him too. Now that he couldn't use Shelly he wanted to use me. My face was bloody and bruised and he was desperate to be in the same state. He wouldn't get it from me, or from anyone else.

  
He took to scratching at his scabs and scars, trying to reopen old wounds. It only worked on a few, but that's all he needed. I checked his arms when he was sleeping from time to time, so I knew right off the bat. I was livid, of course. I was trying so hard to keep him healthy and he didn't seem to want the help. Well if I didn't try, no one would. Even if Kyle knew he would probably only yell at Stan. Like I did, but with insults and no apology, but Stan would forgive him anyway.

  
He didn't even start to understand it until sophomore year of high school. No one noticed when he first wore something other than black. I did. It was a long-sleeved blue V-neck, gay as hell (fitting, since he came out as gay in eighth grade), but it was different and it made me happy. He wore more colors and eventually black was just an accent. He smiled more and one time I could've sworn he smiled at me.

  
He approached me one day after the late bell. Neither of us cared about being late or skipping, unlike Kyle. "Cartman." I looked at him but kept quiet. He never spoke to me alone and I wondered what he'd say. He seemed nervous, taking a deep breath and patting his thighs a little. "... It's been a month." He didn't need to clarify. I knew what he meant. I smiled and patted his back. I told him he was doing a great job and that I was proud of him. I never told anyone when I was proud or happy about something they did, but Stan needed it. Addicts often need that kind of thing. He smiled at me and my heart skipped a few beats. It was one thing to THINK I saw him smile at me from a distance and another for it to be so close, so blatant. Stan was one of the prettiest people I knew. He and Kenny were both beautiful, and Kyle had his own charm, while I... not so much. And this beautiful guy was smiling at me. How could I stop myself from returning it?

  
There were a few seconds of silence. It felt tense to me, but that was probably because my heart was jumping in my chest. His smile gradually fell. "Cartman... I'm sorry for what I did to you. You were just trying to help. And you did. You were amazing, you knew... exactly what to say..." He sighed a bit and looked off to the side. "And I keep thinking of that. I mean, when I want to start again, it keeps me from doing it, yeah, but also... You knew _exactly_ what to say." He looked back at me and my chest tightened, keeping me from brushing him off. There were a few more seconds of tense silence. "Cartman. If what I'm thinking is right... I wanna help you too. I want to be there for you like you were for me. Do... Do you...?" My lips pressed together and I couldn't help myself. I hugged him as tightly as I could and began to cry. Not the kind of crying I did when I wanted to manipulate someone, but _really_ crying. He was quick to hug me back and my heart could've stopped right then and there. I couldn't remember the last time someone hugged me. He sighed out this breathy, sad-sounding "dude" and held me without complaint. Maybe he knew I would've done the same for him if he'd let me.

  
We started hanging out after that day. One could've even called us friends. Even so, it took a long time before I showed him my own arms. He was sympathetic and fed me the same words I fed him in middle school. I felt bad for not showing him all of my injuries. With his help, I started to heal too. We both had our relapses, but healing was a process. We both understood that and were patient with each other. When we both reached a month, we treated ourselves to a day at the mall, just to hang out together and buy a few things. I jokingly asked if this counted as a date. He just laughed and flushed a light shade of pink, but he didn't confirm or deny it. I didn't bring it up again.

  
It was honestly the funniest goddamn thing watching Kyle get more and more jealous each time Stan and I spent time together. He confronted Stan about it a few times, as if he felt betrayed that Stan would dare to hang out with _me_ of all people. I couldn't remember the last time Stan stood up for himself against Kyle, but when I asked he said it was different when you were defending a friend.

  
I couldn't tell you when we went from friends to something else entirely. Maybe when we briefly held hands while watching a movie like we usually did, but that time neither of us let go. Maybe when we woke up in each others' arms after a sleepover. Maybe it was the desperate kiss he gave me when he was stressing over not having a date to junior prom. Maybe it was when we went to junior prom together. Maybe it was that night at the park we locked eyes for too long, or maybe it was the slow, meaningful kiss right after that moment. Whenever it happened, we were no longer the same. We had the kind of relationship I'd wanted with him since I was a kid, and it was just as satisfying as I'd always imagined, even though we weren't public yet.

  
Kyle got outright enraged when Stan started turning down plans with him to hang out with me. He felt he was being replaced. Stan assured him that they were still super best friends, but Kyle was more envious than I'd ever seen him before. He even barged in once on a night Stan was staying over so he could fight with me. His rage quickly became confusion when he saw that our lips were pressed together because that's not usually something friends do. We were kind of forced to tell him then. He just seemed really confused, but nowhere near as angry as he was when he believed I was trying to steal Stan away from him. However, Stan and I both knew how bad Kyle was at keeping things to himself. We had to come out to everyone. It wasn't this big announcement, we just held hands sometimes at school and the rumor mill started turning. When we were asked, we would confirm. It actually felt pretty good, being able to hold his hand outside of our homes. No one gave us much shit. All of the jocks cared about Stan too much to let anyone hurt him and therefore, I was also untouchable. At least about dating Stan. Fat jokes were still a thing. Like I cared anymore. I guess Stan cared though. After he found out I was actually insecure about my body and my weight, he stopped poking fun about it and told others to lay off. He punched a couple people who he felt went too far. Somehow I found it really satisfying. If he broke the person's nose I'd laugh and buy him ice cream or something. Like a thanks-for-being-a-good-friend/lover gift.

  
Our dates mostly consisted of just staying inside and playing games or watching movies. When we went out it was because at least one of us went one more month without self-harming. It was tough, really, but having someone supporting you makes it a hell of a lot easier, especially if you're supporting them too. Supporting someone makes you feel like you're doing something good.

  
Yeah, eventually Kyle saw Stan's scars, and he got pissed off, but when Stan explained that he'd gone four months already and that he and I were helping each other, Kyle calmed down. He was still angry, but he seemed more upset that he didn't find out until then. Kenny was briefly upset too, but congratulated Stan and I for coming so far. He kept looking at me like he was surprised I would hurt myself and not immediately show off. I wasn't one of those types. I never was. Stan sort of was in middle school, but it became an addiction the same way it did for me. Addictions are fucking tough, man. But it'll be okay. We can do it together.


End file.
